


Glory

by Ray_Murata



Series: Black Bird Fly [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Murata/pseuds/Ray_Murata
Summary: On the journey back from the Primeval Thaig after a life-changing accident, Zevran watches the man he loves come undone, burdened by his irrational chase for Glory, suddenly drowning in the overflowing pain of every emotion he's bottled up over the years -- grief, anger, sorrow, fear, uncertainty, regret. Layer by layer, Alec undresses his heart to Zevran.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Surana, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Series: Black Bird Fly [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/901512
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First, HUGE THANKS to my beloved betas, [Emily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarky_Warden/works) and [D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711).
> 
> Second... This fic was inspired by the following two songs by Bastille: [Icarus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMzcjK0a8zKQ) and [ Glory](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ekN7GNfYE7w). It shocked me pale to find two songs by the same band that together summarized Alec's character arc that beautifully. It inspired me to write this, disregarding timeline or the fact Wayward Heart is still unfinished. All of the major events of their lives up to this point (9:36-9:37) will be mentioned and recapped, so there are spoilers for Wayward Heart here (ofc). I had the two songs on repeat while I was writing, so I'd say that this work is imbued with both their themes and melodies, in case anyone wants to check them out for a fuller experience. (Youtube links above, or [my spotify playlist for Alec.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2FEJXdzSTrBeb2Cp3fNP7J?si=B9bxIMMPRB6MxWkM7S0UIQ)) 
> 
> If you're not familiar with my warden, Alec, I'm not sure I'd recommend starting with this fic. I'd ask you to check out my main fic [Wayward Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849416/chapters/24088878) first, but, honestly, it's up to you. I _think_ this one stands alone if needs be. <3
> 
> Lastly -- If you've ever read my now-removed work, "Cooing Crows," a series of letters between Alec and Zev post-Awakenings, I will ask you to disregard whatever you remember of it. That work is an outdated version of my zalec canon. =) Thanks! Enjoy!

Alec had changed.

The change was so slow that Zevran didn’t see it at first. In fact it had taken him so long that he now felt he had noticed it far too late. The long bouts of time spent separated by the Waking Sea certainly did not help matters, but even when, in his short trips back home, Zevran felt that something was off, Alec was quick to dismiss concerns and fix whatever behavior had led to the suspicion in the first place. He was stubborn, reserved, and most of all… He was never at ease showing weakness, not even to Zevran himself. Not even after all these years.

Six years. 

Having established a network of defected Crows back in Antiva, Zevran could finally take a step away from the fight against House Arainai and its allied cells. 

The name of the Black Shadow was already on the mouths of every Crow in the country, and while once he had been one, he was now many. Zevran hadn’t planned it, hadn’t welcomed it at first, either. He’d never objected to revenge seekers using his guise or his style -- he knew how charming he could be, and how far his name had traveled ever since he had not only outlived a failed contract, but all but married the mark. The mark himself no irrelevant peanut, either, but one of the two Grey Wardens who had organized the efforts to stop the Fifth Blight. In a single year, no less. An unprecedented feat all of Thedas had talked much about ever since.

But perhaps, be it because Antivans were such sentimental people, or thanks to the couple of bards Zevran had commissioned after the Blight, Antiva was the only country that told as many tales of the elven warden as it did the Fereldan King’s. In fact, it was the _only_ country where an out-of-context mention of “the Hero of Ferelden” did not immediately prompt the question “Which one, the King or the other one?” 

In Antiva, everyone knew Alistair Theirin as The King of Ferelden, and Alec Surana as its Hero. 

After all, it was the elven Grey Warden who had spared their very own infamous Crow Zevran Arainai, and then vowed not to seek revenge on him, but to stay at his side through sickness and health. 

Zevran loved the ballads, the few he had commissioned as much as the many, many more that came after, as his own fame as the Black Shadow rose to its peak. Antivans really did love a good romance. And yet, the man himself whose love story was sung suffered more and more with the distance that kept them apart. And so, even if Zevran had never had the intent of leading anyone, let alone an anonymous cell of former Crows seeking reform, he eventually came around to the idea.

It allowed him to come home and, for once, stay. Stay for a whole year, at the very least, right there at his lover’s side. That was when Zevran saw behind the curtains. He wouldn’t even dare accuse Alec of deceiving him on purpose. He knew his warden too well to make that mistake: he was protecting himself from pain he did not want to address, and Zevran couldn’t blame him, even if he was left in the dark, watching from the outside as the green orchards in his lover’s eyes withered quietly. 

Zevran himself was no stranger to the fear of undressing one’s heart, but Alec? Alec was unparalleled.

His heart, if not to call it a hostage of his brain, was covered in dozens, dozens of layers of bandages, and he refused to remove them or clean them. The problem was that with time, the bandages themselves squeezed down, tighter and tighter, and that pain only grew, and the blood would seep through. Of course Alec always put on a clean layer when Zevran visited, never letting him see the wound.

But when he stayed, even Alec couldn’t always hide it.

His temper was short, he ate even less, worked even more. He had always worked too much, rose early and slept late. The problem was, there simply wasn’t enough work to justify how much the Warden Commander worked. The Blight was over, and every single Darkspawn tunnel in Ferelden, save for the area around Gwaren, had been long cleaned off its ghoulish inhabitants. There was the research, of course -- Avernus’ as well as Alec’s own studies and documenting of Darkspawn anatomy. Few were the subjects of analysis that showed up nowadays, however, and so Alec spent most of his time locked in the study.

At first, Zevran thought that being under-required frustrated him. For as much as he liked books, Alec certainly preferred to be out in the field, putting his knowledge to use. If he bent himself over a book of new spells, he would just as quickly itch to try them, to see their effectiveness. He would want to play around with the new magic, push its limits, experience each spell and its power in practice. 

But there were no Darkspawn to fight. Of course Alec would find it dull.

So Zevran took him on adventures, like they often did when they had the chance to meet. A visit to a bustling town, or a weekend camping at the ruins of an old battle. Even a few impromptu drop-bys in Denerim to play with Mara’s little rage demons. It always worked to raise Alec’s spirits, to make him chuckle loudly and pinch Zevran’s side, and hug him tightly and with so much unspoken gratitude that it flooded Zevran’s heart. They would smoke and drink and fuck to their heart’s content.

No matter what, though, it wasn’t enough. They would return to their routine, a couple of days would pass, and a dark cloud would form atop his warden’s head, and there it would linger. He would speak little, and wrap his arms around Zevran without actually controlling the body he inhabited. He would conjure more work out of thin air, endless tasks to tick, every day. He was working himself to death when the sun was out, and drinking himself into oblivion when the sun was gone, leaving next to no energy left for any other pleasure in life unless Zevran dragged him by the collar.

Zevran thought he had the answer for this: Alec needed novelty for more than just a couple of days. He needed a whole month of fun. Void with it, three whole months. An evident solution, if you asked him, but the warden neither refused nor accepted. He listened to Zevran’s suggestion with barely-there curiosity, his eyes drifting away as if he were pondering an idea.

Just so. A month later, Alec received permission from the First Warden to lead an extremely dangerous mission into the Primeval Thaig, in Kirkwall. So Alec _did_ take Zevran up on his plan to go away for a few months, but instead of a leisure trip with him, the warden had chosen the deep road tunnels instead.

Zevran would be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt, but it wasn’t out of pride or jealousy that he dashed out of Ferelden even before Alec left for the Free Marches. It was simply that a very loyal associate had gotten caught in an ambush back in Antiva, and amidst the frustration and awkwardness, he’d deemed it best to go.

He regretted leaving right after he left, and chose to lead Nuncio and his goons nowhere other than Kirkwall itself, where perhaps he could find Alec before the stupid feline killed himself trying to jump too high. Alec did always land on his feet, though, and lacked neither talent nor smarts, so it was actually that Zevran worried about the state of his lover’s psyche more than his body. 

More and more, it seemed as though Alec had gone back on his wish to die a grand death.

Alec was ambitious, that was news to no one. Zevran knew his warden had once wished for glory equal to that of Garahel’s, for an afterlife reunion with his first love. In the end he’d chosen life with a new love, and fate had it that his name was left in the background of the feats he had worked so hard to achieve. Harder than anyone. 

Alec blamed himself, and Zevran never knew what to do or say when the subject was even breached. Every time, they would reach an impasse where no understanding could be found at all. For Zevran, there was nothing else more worth pursuing than the pleasures of every minute. Life was what they made of it, every day. 

But for Alec, there was _the glory he’d taken from himself_. 

The wound wasn’t new, however, and when Zevran thought of the past, the months following the Blight and the times they’d met in the two years that followed, it really had seemed to him like it had healed.

Back then, Alec was all enthusiasm. He had a hundred and one plans for Vigil’s Keep, a list several pages long of improvements to make, changes to establish in the way the Wardens operated in Ferelden. He also went to Denerim often, got closer to Mara’s family -- his family too, after all -- and even managed to get his old best friend Eadric sitting right next to King Alistair as his Arcane Advisor.

Amidst all of that, Alec still had time to surprise Zevran with tailor-made leather gear, with delicious meals in his favorite Denerim taverns, with loving lute melodies at the balcony of Vigil’s Keep. He had love for life then, and even though Zevran tried over and over to convince him to leave glory behind and instead roam the world with him stealing and spending, Alec was resolute. Mischief was well and good, but that’s not how he wanted his name to be known. He would be known for his great deeds yet -- If not the one he’d stolen from himself, then other, new ones. His voice was full of hope. 

So perhaps it wasn’t just that Alec was bored, itching to go out and practice some spell he just learned. It was instead that he needed to show off his domain of the spell. He needed others to witness his power.

But with no Blight in which to shine, and no Darkspawn left in Ferelden to pick a fight with, Alec had to go looking for opportunities elsewhere.

And yet... Alec’s voice was dull and distant when he said he would be going deeper into the Primeval Thaig than even Hawke or the Marcher Wardens had dared. He had requested the task himself, but there was no spark, no excitement, no joy in his eyes. No hope at all.

Zevran himself had known despair quite intimately, and perhaps that was the reason that it hit him, not long after he’d left, just how empty Alec’s eyes had been all of those months. It was as though he were someone else, or empty, or replaced by a task-fulfilling automaton, but this was certainly not the bright Alec Zevran had fallen madly in love with. His curiosity, his playful arrogance, his dorkiness, his snark, his endless teasing, his quaking laughter? It was all missing, _for months_. But Maker, the change had been so subtle, as if Alec’s soul had leaked out of his body right under Zevran’s nose, slipped through his own fingers.

How had he missed it? Fucking hindsight.

Zevran went after Alec, into the Primeval Thaig.

And all that had to happen had happened. The Red Lyrium, the numerous waves of Darkspawn the likes of which Zevran had not seen since the Blight, the cut that tainted his blood.

If Zevran had been worried Alec had lost touch with his emotions, he was proven wrong. Alec’s rage and fear were in fact so intense it scared even Zevran himself. He had called his warden ruthless in the past, but it had hardly been fair at the time. At the Primeval Thaig, it was a rather accurate adjective to describe him. 

Even Zevran had never seen just how cruelly Alec could yield blood: controlling the minds of the darkspawn, having them mutilate themselves and their kin; bleeding them, burying them alive in tombs of stone...

But _his_ Alec had _always_ dealt death quickly and cleanly. So who was this instead?

When Alec came down from the wave of rage, and the subsequent days of caring for Zevran with frenzied zeal, it was like he had worn himself out to the very bones. He was paler than ever, older than ever, thinner than ever -- skin sticking to his bones, black circles sunk deep under his eyes. They lay in a bedroll together, a spell controlling the flow of Zevran’s blood, keeping the taint from spreading too deep. 

“Have you slept, gattino?” Zevran’s voice was weak, small, no more than a whisper.

Alec offered a small nod. “A bit. How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit--” Before Alec could say anything, least of all agree, he added, “but I would appreciate being told I look otherwise. It might do wonders to my state of mind.”

Alec let out a small chuckle. He reached his hand up and brushed a strand of barley blond hair behind Zevran’s long ear. He played with the earring at his earlobe, but avoided his gaze. “I am sorry, Zev.”

“Ah, think nothing of it, my warden,” Zevran scooted closer as much as he could, his body frail from weeks of withstanding the taint as they made their way out of the thaig. Several people had suggested Alec submit Zevran to the Joining, and the Warden Commander left the choice to his lover, himself. But even if he technically had the choice, Zevran couldn’t disregard Alec’s pleas for him to just give him a while longer to figure out a way to purify his blood through magic. 

For that, however, Alec would need a demon already this side of the Veil, or unprecedented books on blood magic, or the help of an old friend who knew dark magic, and _taint magic_ , more than anyone. They just had to get to Morrigan, Alec said.

Zevran couldn’t say no to him. 

“We could have been in Rivain, like you wanted. Instead of here.”

Zevran shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come meddling in Warden business, mm? You would think that I would’ve learned my lesson all those years ago. In fact, it had been so long, my love, I had entirely forgotten just how foul their breaths smell.” 

Another nod. 

Zevran sighed. Alec’s eyes unfocused, a fog clouded the green.

“Amore, Alec,” Zevran dared. “It is not your fault.”

Alec swallowed hard. “I get it. I mean, my brain gets it. I know that I did not wield the blade. I didn’t strike the blow, and I didn’t directly position you in front of the hurlock. But… It’s the same thing again, innit? It’s me, just.. I’m…”

He tried several times, opening and closing his mouth, shaping the consonants with his lips only to seal them into a line again. He couldn’t speak.

And then, bit by bit, the façade started crumbling. First it was a pained gulp, a tremble of lips. His nostrils twitched, and his eyebrows shot up, his eyes turning glossy at once. His nostrils spasmed even more, his lips twisting as he bit down hard enough to hurt his jaw. He turned around, looked away, hiding his face, holding the tears back with the very last drop of willpower he had left.

Zevran’s heart had shrunk into the size of a raisin. It hurt to watch his warden fight so fiercely with his own tears. It hurt to know there was a pain stuck so deep inside his heart he could no longer keep it hidden no matter how much effort he put into it.

And when the first tear rolled down Alec’s freckled cheek, Zevran reached for him with trembling hands, wishing deep within his heart that he could trade with him, and take the pain into himself.

It was one of the worst feelings in the world, seeing him cry.

In these six years, Zevran had seen him cry exactly three times. Four, now.

The first was stolen, and Zevran wished he could take it back. 

They had known each other only a couple of weeks, and even though the warden had nearly taken him to bed, he still felt like he knew nothing of the man, that he stood at a disadvantage. Zevran didn’t know, at the time, what a loyal man Alec was, so he’d spied on him, trying to find something to use as leverage should he ever need it. Instead, he witnessed the sobbing tears of a grieving man, tears he was certain Alec did not mean or wish for anyone to see. 

To this day, Zevran had never once mentioned it at all.

The second time was the worst, and it hurt the most to remember. 

It was a couple of weeks after the battle of Denerim. Following the victory, Alec stayed in bed for quite a few days, recovering from a handful of broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, injuries he sustained in the fall from the Archdemon’s neck, right after piercing through its head and dealing the killing blow. Zevran still remembered the clamor, the cheering, and the gelid fear in his heart that no dark magic ritual could keep a man from dying from a fall. But Alec survived, and Zevran himself took him to the infirmary for healing while the battle raged on.

When Alec next opened his eyes, he was surrounded by curious, amazed, grateful and admiring eyes from friends and strangers both, many of whom wondering just how he had managed to survive dealing the killing blow. 

Zevran could never have foreseen that his warden would give the credit to another.

He knew, and all of those on top of Fort Drakon knew, that it was a lie. But the eyewitnesses were few, and most of them members of Alec’s inner crew. After a whole year of traveling, camping and fighting together, they all respected Alec’s choice to hide behind Riordan. He wanted to escape questioning by the First Warden, to protect the truth of his and Morrigan’s dark ritual. And so he lied, and they all stayed quiet.

Stuck in his room convalescing, Alec did not see just how fast the lie spread, just how loudly the Orlesians sang praise to their warden, how faithfully the Fereldans’ support for King Alistair had grown. Ballads were already sung in taverns, recounting Alistair’s prowess defending the gates of Denerim, Riordan’s precision in his killing blow. Stuck in his room convalescing, Alec did not see just how drastically he had been shadowed by the human wardens.

So it was only two weeks later, when he was finally well enough to walk and travel around, that Alistair called for the condecorations to be given and the celebratory feast to be held. Alistair did not hold back praise for his fellow countryman and grey warden, giving him credit for his tireless work in the course of the year they had spent together, but even if the King awarded Alec the title of Hero of Ferelden, even if he listed every single risk Alec had taken to end that blight, the one thing he could not list was still the one people most cared about.

It was in that feast, then, standing next to Zevran with a glass in his hand, ignored by the throngs of people who tried so hard to get closer to the King or by the endless groups who told each other taller and taller tales of Riordan’s sacrifice, that Alec realized just what he had done.

His hands shook, and sweat pooled on his temples. At first Zevran mistook it for unhealed wounds, but Alec denied it. Alec was not the type to underplay his own injuries or push his body beyond what it could. He was a healer, and he was prudent about his health. If he were sick, he wouldn’t risk getting worse for something as trivial as a party. Zevran couldn’t tell what was wrong, but as he watched his warden in silence, the nearby talks landed in his ears.

“I don’t see how that is enough to award him the same honors as the King. Riordan, too? An Orlesian, hero of Ferelden? But at least he killed the archdemon! What did that elf really do?”

“I heard he killed people and ransacked establishments in Redcliffe.”

“No? What savage!” 

What followed was just a whisper, so quiet Zevran wasn’t sure of the words except for two: “blood mage.”

Another group farther ahead chatted cheerfully. “I saw him jump atop the back of the dragon, crawl all the way up to the head and sink his sword deep into the beast’s eye.”

A woman giggled. “And he was quite handsome, too. Too bad he died.”

Alec’s face had turned white as a sheet, his eyes unfocused, his shoulders tensed.

“Should we take a stroll, amore?” Zevran suggested against his lover’s ear. Alec agreed with a nod, and Zevran took him by the hand, heading towards the gardens of the castle. Instead, Alec grumbled something and changed their course, pulling Zevran to the library.

He perused the books without saying anything, his trembling fingers running through the spines, eyes darting past titles without truly seeing them. At some point, Alec paused and rested his forehead against the shelf. Zevran watched him, unsure whether to try for levity, or to offer him space to talk. He decided for the latter, and waited.

Alec slammed his palm against the shelf. Once, twice, three times, before cupping his face in his hands, shaking. He ran his palms up, combed fingers through his hair, eyes avoiding Zevran’s.

“It was _me_.”

Zevran took a step closer.

“It wasn’t him. Riordan. It wasn’t him, it was me.” 

“I know,” Zevran said, placing his palm on Alec’s elbow, squeezing him lightly. “I saw you with my own two eyes, gattino. My heart in my throat, scared--”

“Why in the Void did I say it was him, Zev?” Alec asked, his breath getting shallow. He shook his head, and pulled away. Zevran watched his back as he walked, his head still shaking, shoulders tense. “I thought that I-- That everything we’d done, that I’d done… But then… I thought that because it was all documented, it wasn’t going to matter.” He paused in front of a shelf and took out a book. He opened its first page and stared at it, blankly, for what seemed like an eternity. 

Zevran’s own gaze was focused on the book, and it startled him when a sudden, single drop of rain landed on the page. He looked up, realizing with a startle that it was a tear. 

Alec quickly wiped his face on his sleeve, then turned around. For the tenth time that night, he shook his head. A choked chuckle escaped his throat, echoed in the empty halls of the library. The laughter turned almost hysterical, and his shoulders quaked hard, his voice breaking when he asked. 

“How could I be so fucking naive?” 

He hurled the book against a shelf, then grabbed another, dashing it across the room with just as much force and anger. He howled like a wounded wolf, grabbing book upon book, throwing every single title on the floor or over on the other shelves. “So. Fucking. Stupid,” he screamed, low and desperate and breaking with pain. His hands trembled. 

Alec turned around, eyes bloodshot. Zevran couldn’t bear watching him.

“It was me!!” Alec screamed. “ _I_ killed the fucking Archdemon! _I_ planned our strategy, I kept every fucking record, _I_ led every fucking negotiation! It was me, Zev!” He slammed a fist into his own chest, over and over, with self flagellating strength. “It was me!” 

“Why the fuck did I say it was him?? Why the--'' Alec couldn’t finish the sentence, his breaths coming in in sobs, his back resting against a shelf, legs giving in, body sliding down like he could no longer stand. 

Zevran broke his fall, held him in the tightest embrace he could muster. 

Alec clutched at the collar of his own shirt, tears trickled down his face like waterfalls and he tried to hide himself by pulling the collar of his shirt over his head, covering his face from view like a turtle. But the more he attempted to forcefully cease his own crying, the worse it got. 

Zevran undid his braid, combed fingers through his hair, massaged his scalp and his neck to ease the tension on his body. Alec gripped at his shirt and clung to him, buried his face in Zevran’s neck, the tears of anger refusing to stop no matter how much he tried to steady his own breath. He tried to count to ten, but howled with ire and resumed the struggle before he reached six.

“The greatest minds always work behind the curtains, amore,” Zevran offered, running gentle fingers through his warden’s copper hair. “And besides, if they knew just how much you’ve done in this Blight, and how much you’re capable of, they would be scared of you. They’d be sure to hire a whole Crow cell to deal with you then, my love. You are a force of nature.”

Alec _was_ a force of nature. It was why Zevran had grown to depend so much on him, and why he did not know what to do when his warden came undone in his arms. He did little, and said little, but held him there for as long as he needed, letting the silence stretch between them until Alec’s breath was once again even, his heart calm. 

Until Alec stood up on his own, cleaned his face, and declared he was ready to return to the feast where everyone praised other men for the things _he_ had done.

The third time Zevran saw Alec cry was yet a couple of years later. After moving from Vigil’s Keep to Soldier’s Peak, he had gone around the northern counties establishing relationships with the local nobles. It was no surprise, then, that he stopped in Highever to meet with the Cousland brothers, the youngest of whom an old friend from the Blight. 

While in Highever, Alec sought out his mother’s family for the first time since being taken to Kinloch Hold at the age of eight. Zevran followed at his side through the streets of the alienage, to what Alec told him was still the same old shack where he had once lived as a child. And it was while sitting at the kitchen table with his aunt that Alec heard, for the first time ever, the details of his mother’s sudden disappearance. 

She had plans, Alec’s aunt said, for herself and for him, her child. She had a job, and a place, and she hoped to go from washing laundry for the Couslands to performing songs for them. The rumors Alec remembered from back then, of her affair, were also true -- she had something with a human guard who worked in the castle, and yet, once or twice she’d complained of the man to Alec’s aunt Syl. And then, one day, she was gone.

Perhaps as a child, it wouldn’t have clicked. But now, as an adult, it was so glaring Zevran was not the only one to see it.

“That doesn’t make sense. If that’s all true, then… Why would she leave?” asked Alec.

Syl shrugged and shook her head, her face so full of sorrow.

“She didn’t leave me, did she? Did she leave at all?” 

Syl dissolved in tears, in wailing ‘ _I don’t know’s._

Looking back now, Zevran wasn’t sure if they had done right to pursue the answer to that question, but at the time, they could not have left it unanswered. And so they’d followed the 18-year-old clues still left in Highever, found the people who had known his mother, asked question after question until there was no doubt that Lena Surana had not left to pursue an easier life, and she certainly had not abandoned her five-year-old boy.

She had been killed. The murder covered up with a framed empty wardrobe and a nasty rumor.

And still, no revenge could be had, for the killer himself, the guard, her ex lover, was long dead, murdered by Howe’s goons when the Couslands were ambushed in their own home. 

All that Alec _could_ do for closure was plant her a tree, like Li Na had taught him to do. When he finished burying the seed into fertile ground and watering it, he sat there waiting, as if it’d grow into a full-blown tree in a few hours if he just watched over it. They stayed like that, not talking, sitting shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. 

Alec’s voice was hoarse from lack of use when he finally broke the silence: “She never left me. It was all a lie Archie fell for. And I resented her all my life.” 

"She would not hold it against you," Zevran said, and he meant it. They had spent days hearing accounts of a Lena Surana who was always humming or singing, who liked drinking a little too much, and who loved her son to bits.

Alec placed his palms on the soil, attempted to mimic Keeper Magic. It only grew into a hand-sized sapling. "I'm sorry, mother."

A single tear ran down his cheek. He wiped it gently, then scoffed, as if amused. He stood up, and offered Zevran his hand. It was time to leave Highever.

That was the last time Alec had shed a tear in front of him. 

Every one of those times, it was a pain that had bottled up to the point of overflowing. Grief, anger, sorrow, all beyond his control. Now, as they lay in the bedrolls together and Alec’s face dissolved into tears, Zevran figured they were made of fear, of uncertainty. 

“What am I even doing, Zev?” he asked between soft sobs. “No matter what I do, I am never going to be like Garahel, and every time I try to do something big, it’s someone else who ends up hurt. It’s Sky, it’s you. Sometimes I’m scared the Gauntlet Guardian was right. You know? Back then. I just don’t know what to do anymore. All I know is... I don’t want to lose you, Zev.”

Zevran pressed his palm to Alec’s chest, his poor heart trying to break through his ribcage. “And I don’t want to lose you either, my warden. It’s why I came after you.” His own eyes stung with sudden tears, his throat dry. He gulped, and figured that if there had ever been a time to say what he thought with no restraints, the time was now. “Lately, it’s been… Like you weren’t there at all. I do not mean to sound ungrateful or like I do not understand,” he paused, breathing in heavily, tiredly. A tear trickled down his face, into his ear. He rubbed his face on the pillow to dry it, dug fingers into Alec’s shirt, squeezing. “Being a warden comes first, yes? I understand. And yet, I admit I did not know whether I still had you this past year, or if I’d lost you already, gattino. Sometimes it felt as if… If you’d forgotten to tell me it was… it was over.”

“No, no, Zevran, no.” Alec cupped Zevran’s cheek in his hand, scooted closer just as he pulled Zevran’s face to his, forehead to forehead. “I love you. I am happier when I am with you.”

Zevran’s eyes shot up, holding Alec’s orchard gaze in surprise. He let out a frail chuckle, cupped the hand that held his own face. “Are you ever, amore?” 

Alec blinked.

“Happy?” Zevran clarified, the word itself a sob. “Are you ever happy?”

Alec gulped, and fresh tears gathered in his eyes. 

“What is really happiness?” He closed his eyes, brushed his nose on Zevran’s. “I’m happy when I’m with you, I swear. It’s not you. It’s… me. I’m tired. I’ve tried everything I could try. I’m so tired, but that’s not the problem. I could handle ‘tired’, if only I knew… If I had a clue what else to do. The thaig, I thought-- What else is there for me to do, Zev?”

“What else to do about what? About the Darkspawn?” 

“About me. About my life,” Alec said. “What’s next? I ruined the chance I had. I thought that another chance would come, or that I’d make one happen. That I’d make myself known and become First Warden, but what does it even fucking matter? I’m further from being First Warden now than I was when the Blight ended, and even if I was close, what good would it do? The First Warden is a fucking bureaucrat who sits on a desk all day. That’s not…” He held Zevran’s nape so tight it almost hurt, but Zevran never stopped listening, his hand on top of Alec’s, his eyes fixed on thin lips as they moved, shaking with every other word. “Wardens are invisible in the world when there aren’t any Blights, and I catch myself _missing_ it, Zev. What is wrong with me? _Missing the Blight._ ” 

Alec shook his head. “There has to be something wrong, innit? For me to miss the plague that killed so many, including Sky. And then I remember what the Gauntlet said… Maybe I wanted it just like that, Zev? Maybe I do wish the next one wouldn’t take three hundred years? Or that I could go back, do things differently? What’s wrong--” 

Zevran cupped Alec’s cheek. “Gattino. Alec,” he cooed. “There is nothing wrong with you. It is good to be needed, yes? To be appreciated? You never got the credit you deserve, amore. But if you’d only come to Antiva with me,” he trailed off. With the taint not spreading in his veins only thanks to Alec’s blood magic, it was hard to say whether or not he’d live long enough to return to Antiva. So this was the second time in his life he had to make peace with saying goodbye to his home. Funnily enough, that was much easier than saying goodbye to Alec.

“I want to, Zev. I really do. I’d love to finally see it. But my brain…” Alec buried fingers in Zevran’s barley hair, squeezed the strands as tightly as a falling man would hold on to a branch. “It tells me I can’t. That I don’t have enough time to get where I want to be, so I gotta try harder first. That if I just try _harder,_ look _harder_ for another opportunity… Instead…” He let go of Zevran and placed his palm atop his own forehead, staring upwards at the impressively tall ceiling of the Deep Roads. 

“I feel like I’m getting dull-witted, like I can do less and less now. I haven’t even seen Purpose in the Fade for, what, almost two years? My Spirit Healing is weaker than ever, so I know that I can’t slack off, I have to learn much more to heal as efficiently with Creation and Blood. My brain keeps telling me that maybe, if I can make Blood more efficient in healing, or if I can find the resting place of the next archdemon, or if I can become First Warden, then, later, when it’s all done, I can travel all of Thedas and enjoy myself. If only I make it, first, _then--_ ” he sobbed, almost pitifully. “But it’s not going to happen, is it? I’m not… not going to… never gonna make it. I’ve been lying to myself, I’m just... I’m not good enough. I’m nobody, and I was just too full of myself to see that.”

Zevran felt that no torture he’d endured hurt more than seeing this. 

“Alec,” he said, soft as a feather. “Why does it matter? You’ve said it yourself, amore, that you are happiest with me. Why must you chase the stars, when life pleasures lie within arms’ reach? Why wait to travel, why postpone happiness until there’s no time left to have it at all? Why regret the past, when we do not know whether it is minutes, days, or years we have left? You say you are nobody, but… How can you forget me? That you are _my_ whole world, gattino.”

Alec buried his face in the pillow, wrapped his arm around Zevran’s waist and pulled him close, chest to chest. White fingers clung to Zevran’s t-shirt, still holding for dear life. “You don’t get it, Zev. You don’t understand,” he murmured, words muffled. “It’s not that simple.”

He could argue a million things, offer a thousand arguments, but he knew he could not get through to Alec when he was drowning in pain. Zevran wanted only to ease that hurt, to take it upon himself, to free Alec from his own demons.

“Im sorry,” the frail boy said, nuzzling Zevran’s neck with a wet nose. “I’m sorry. Please don’t mind me, Zev. I’m talking nonsense, I’m just scared of losing you. I can’t… I can’t hold this spell for another couple of weeks, and we need at least three to get to Orlais. I need a demon’s help, and plenty have been offering…” His voice weakened and broke, so he paused to wipe off tears and clear his throat. “I know they’re all trying to trick me to get to this side of the Veil, but then... Given the lack of one _already_ on this side… I just, I don’t know what to do. I can’t make a decision and I hate feeling _this_ powerless. This… out of control. I hate it so much.”

Zevran gulped, heart dropping down to his stomach. He was scared of dying, too, but if he were to be honest with himself, he’d already lived much longer than he thought he would. He’d outlived Rinna and Taliesen. It was only thanks to the man in his arms that he had made it past twenty-five, let alone thirty. It was thanks to the man in his arms that he had found joy in life again, and lived the past six years to the fullest. He’d made the best of it, and though there was much he still wanted to experience, he’d be a liar if he said he regretted anything. He certainly did not regret coming after Alec in hopes of repaying the favor of six years ago: helping him find joy in life again.

And if he only had a few more days or minutes to accomplish that, he better not waste it.

“Alec,” he whispered, pulling away from the warden only enough to roll him around and look into his reddened eyes. “Put me through the Joining tomorrow.” 

Alec stared back without a word.

“Put me through the joining tomorrow, gattino, and let the Maker decide what comes next.” The seriousness of the moment weighed heavily on Zevran’s heart, so he tried to ease the load. “I have been an honorary warden for so many years at this point, bello, it is about time you made an honest warden out of me, yes?”

Alec chuckled despite himself. 

Zevran combed fingers through his copper hair. “Know that I’d have done the same even if I knew. I’d have come for you just the same, yes? I would storm the Dark city itself just to be by your side a day longer, Alec. You might not know this, but,” he tilted his head, his tone turning coy, “I fancy you like crazy, my warden. It is truly not my fault that I missed your smell so much.” Zevran leaned in, nuzzling Alec’s cheek, his hand sliding down Alec’s bony chest, slipping under his shirt, teasing at his stomach. “I missed your touch, and I missed our lovemaking.” 

Alec’s palms landed on Zevran’s hips, tentative, uncertain. Nothing of his usual act, his usual confidence, was left tonight.

“If the Darkspawn juice happens to do me in, amore, would you at least do me tonight? It would be a pity to die without a proper goodbye,” he said, and chuckled against Alec’s lips. Alec slid his palms down to his buttocks, a soft grip on his cheeks as he pushed his head from the pillow and placed a slow peck to Zevran’s lips. 

Zevran leaned into the kiss, deepened it, slowly and surely falling into his warden’s arms. Alec held him tight, touching him and entering him as though he were a virgin or a fragile porcelain doll. It did things to Zevran’s heart, to be held like that, to taste salt in Alec’s kisses, to feel the trembling of his legs as he thrust in. They made love like saying farewell, regret in every smile, tears mingled with kisses, “I love you’s” chanted over and over under their breath with every swaying of their joined bodies, as if they had to stock them for the road ahead, for the time apart. As if they had to commit tonight to memory. 

And even when it was over, even if the exhaustion from the taint and blood magic stopped them from going again, Alec embraced Zevran as tight as he could, as if he thought he could stop him from ever slipping away if he just held him in his arms. Zevran held him back just as fiercely, not willing to be the first to part.

“It is not the first time we say goodbye like this,” Zevran pointed out, the memory of the nights before the Battle of Denerim coming to his mind. At that time, Alec did not cry -- It was only Zevran who could not hold his tears, having to accept that he had found love only to lose it again. Having to accept Alec’s choice to die a hero.

He remembered the parchment Alec gave him back then, the things he still wanted to do in his life, that he wanted Zevran to do in his stead. 

“Back then,” Zevran said after a beat of silence. “You made me promise I would carry on, that I would live my life to the fullest with or without you. I would say it is fair that you do the same for me now, mm?”

Alec still did not answer. Face buried in his chest, Zevran could only hear his rapid heartbeat. “I am not as creative as you, amore, so you will excuse me if I copy most of the items from your list into mine. If Fortune has it that I am gone tomorrow, you must go to Antiva first thing, yes? I’d like my ashes to be scattered on the rooftops of Antiva City, but do not tell anyone I am dead; let my associates carry on with The Black Shadow work.” He scoffed, thinking out loud: “Though… come to think of it. It would not be terrible to have a big funeral, would it? How many would come, what do you think? Do you suppose my past lovers would weep for me?” 

Alec chuckled as well, and Zevran’s heart fluttered with joy.

“The Crows would hold a feast,” Alec said.

Zevran snickered. “The Crows would pay Rivaini Seers to perform cleansing rituals to make sure not even my Spirit ever comes back, yes? They do not appreciate my charm.”

Alec combed fingers through Zevran’s hair, but didn’t say anything else. Silence stretched, but everything was calmer now. Alec’s heart had settled. Minutes passed. Thoughts circled around in Zevran’s mind, the night playing over and over behind his eyelids.

“Why can’t you see, amore, that you have already made it?” He asked out of a sudden, as if they had just been in the middle of a conversation. Alec frowned in confusion. Zevran continued quietly: “Even if no one else knows, you do, and I do, and everyone that matters does. You’ve already made it. You beat the Blight in one year; _we_ did. I know things did not go to plan, but it baffles me that you cannot see that you’ve already made it. You cannot control what others do, you cannot trade your pointy ears for round ones, your staff for a sword, your boldness and your fierceness for Garahel’s friendliness and subservience.” 

He straightened up a bit, pulling away to look at Alec as he spoke. “Even if you had not given Riordan the credit, Ferelden would not have sung your praise, amore. You know this, you’ve always known this -- The only reason Garahel made history was because he was dead. But you? Ha!” He let out raucous laughter. “Not only did you survive, you had already meddled in Ferelden politics for a year straight. Even good humans cannot truly stand a powerful elf standing at their side. They are scared we will take their share of the pie. The game has always been rigged, and you have always known. You could have had glory, but they wouldn’t have let you have glory _and_ life both.”

“I know.” Alec’s voice was dry. “I’ve always known.”

“You knew. When you chose the ritual, you knew. Do you regret it? Do you wish you’d died back then?”

Silence.

“Sometimes.” 

Silence followed once more. A harmless, tiny crawler appeared through a hole on the wall and disappeared through another. The night turned into dawn.

“The Blight was one of the hardest times of my life, but also one of the best.” Alec licked his lips, looked away, at the stones of the Deep Roads’ walls. “It was _the_ best time of my life,” he admitted. “I just… I’ve never been as good as I was back then. Never learned as much, never met as many people, never _saved_ as many people, never had as many experiences as I di--”

“Because you’ve been chasing stars, my stubborn warden!”

“Even if that’s what I’ve been doing. I thought I had what it took to _catch_ a star.”

“You do. Maker’s breath, you are so incredibly smart, my warden, but now you choose to be so dense?” Zevran sat up, legs crossed. “You are not modest. Do not try and fool me. You know just what you have accomplished in this life. Is it not time you gave _yourself_ credit and allowed yourself to take a rest from all of that? From Wardening, from researching?” 

Alec didn’t answer, and Zevran sighed heavily. He patted Alec’s leg, rubbing it gently. “Do you still remember the things in the list you gave me?”

“Mm.” Alec nodded.

“Antiva.”

“I’m sorry I never joined you in your trips there,” Alec said quietly. “I should have.”

Zevran did not have what it took to disagree. It would be a lie to say it did not hurt, that Alec had never fulfilled the promise of visiting Antiva with him. His eyes stung again.

“If I survive tomorrow, will you finally do it?”

“Yes,” Alec promised quickly. He propped himself up, cupped Zevran’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together. “Yes. I will. We’ll watch the sunset from the rooftops, and eat fish chowder at the pier. And then I will get sick with the heat, and red as a lobster. You’ll show me your favorite brothels, and we’ll invite a pretty lady to join us, innit? Because we haven’t done something like this in years.”

Zevran let his head slide down, falling on Alec’s shoulder. “If I recall, gattino, you also wanted to visit Starkhaven, yes?”

“Garahel’s and Amadia’s graves, yeah.” Alec chuckled. “Now I think I’d be green with envy.”

Zevran chuckled as well. “It is Garahel who should be green with envy of you, amore. As I see it, he did not get enough time to enjoy life with Amadia, is it not so? They never had children, and I doubt they had time to go anywhere for the pleasure of it. We are not dead yet. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight, so why not indulge ourselves? We could still travel the world, adopt a couple of children, make trouble everywhere we go?”

Alec bit his lower lip, agreed with a small nod. “If you survive tomorrow, we’ll go to Antiva as soon as we meet with Morrigan.”

“Morrigan?” Zevran frowned. “Why would we need our dear Wilds Witch if I survive the Joining?” His lips were dry, so he licked them, suddenly regretting the mention of children. “Mm, unless… You wish to see for yourself the ritual’s offspring?”

Alec held his breath, eyes widening just a tad, so subtle Zevran wouldn’t have noticed it if they weren’t this close. “She’s probably harvested the soul, don’t you think? It’s what I would do, if I were experimenting on an old god’s soul. I’d detach it from the child, give them to someone who could take care of them proper.”

“How are you so certain the soul can be detached?”

“I’m not. An educated guess, but still just speculation on my part. There’s no saying it is even a regular child. It may have been born half darkspawn. Or simply, I don’t know…” He shrugged. Alec had thought about this a thousand times in these five years, hadn’t he? Was it curiosity, or was it fear? Zevran kissed his cheek, his jaw.  
  
Alec continued: “Either way, it’s not because of that. It’s because... Even if you survive the Joining, the taint won’t be gone. You’ll be affected just like me. Perhaps less so, since we’re not in the middle of a Blight-- sadly for me,” he added jokingly, already appearing much better in mood. Enough that he could joke about his own fears and pains. “But the taint will still be in your blood, slowly poisoning it. Perhaps, after we’ve gone to Antiva and crossed out a few items of that list, we could seek a cure?”

“A definitive cure for the taint?”

“Mhm.” Alec reached for a basin in his backpack. He conjured water, dipped his hand inside and then cleaned dry tears off his face. “I reckon that… Morrigan has already agreed to meet us, so we might as well stop by and ask her what she knows about curing the taint. She understands Blight magic, she has just recently moved into the Orlesian court. There is a well-known mage in Orlais… A former warden. The only former warden anyone has ever heard of who fully broke with the Order, taint and all.”

“Fiona.” Zevran had heard of her too.

“The one.” Alec gently rubbed a wet thumb along Zevran’s eyes, washing away the stickiness. “From what I heard, she doesn’t know how she was cured, but perhaps together we can analyze the events surrounding it, find a clue or two that would help us discover a cure. Crookytail used to be tainted, too. The post-exposure potion you’ve been taking is the recipe I learned with the kernel master back then. It’s the one he made for Crookytail, and that cured him.”

“But it cannot cure me.”

“No. Even if the dose is increased, it won’t cure you. Animals, plants, objects and people all react differently to the taint. But if we consider the Orzammanian potion for pre-exposure, search for previously documented experiments... It’s gotta be possible to find a lead there somewhere, innit?”

It was Zevran’s turn to answer with a small nod.

For the first time in a long while, he saw the glimpse of spring in Alec’s orchard eyes. There was a small flame barely igniting, and Zevran’s throat was in knots. It was a flame, a purpose, but was it not more of the same? To cure the taint? To do the impossible? To achieve something so great his name would go to history books -- even if not the ballads at the taverns?

But what could Zevran do, save for watching the one he cherished chase the sun?

After all, if there was anyone in Thedas who could do the impossible, that someone was Alec.

Zevran placed his hand atop Alec’s, pulled him down on the bedroll, back into a tangled mess of an embrace. “If I survive tomorrow, gattino, you cannot go chasing a cure that fast. You ought to let me experience warden stamina for a couple of years first, no? Imagine all the sex we can have if I never get tired either. Do not cut your man’s fun short before it’s even begun, bello.”

Alec scoffed. “Don’t worry, we’ll go to Antiva first. And, better yet, we’ll stop by Rivain and Tevinter as well, while at it. We can fuck every single night while you show me the north of Thedas. A new place every day.”

“Will you fuck me in the ocean?”

“Don’t push your luck. I’ll fuck you on the shore.”

Zevran laughed. “Cruel to the end,” he teased, nibbling on Alec’s collarbone. “We’ll both end up with sand up our asscracks, amore.”

Alec snorted. “Your fault, you brought up beach sex.”

Zevran shrugged, his grin both guilty and shameless. “ _Dimmi_ , what cities would you like to visit in Tevinter, then?”

“I’d start with Minrathous. I’ve always wanted to see it, and its Grand Libraries.” He turned his head, giving Zevran a sly, cheeky grin. “If you survive, I’ll tie you down and eat you up in a Tevinter library.”

Zevran’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Ah, you better not be making empty promises, amore. To fill me with expectation like that would be oh so cruel.”

Alec rolled on top of him, kissed him softly on his lips, his cheek, his earlobe. “I’ll fill you with something else, make you beg for it,” he whispered, then licked along Zevran’s ear with a magically cooled tongue, making him shiver and yelp in surprise. 

A big sigh of relief escaped through Zevran’s lips as he chuckled. 

“If you die tomorrow, what else would you want to make sure you’ve done, tonight?” Alec asked, not gravery or somberly, but with unbidden compassion, with pure love.

“Mm,” Zevran pondered for a moment. Still a week away from the entrance of the deep roads, it wasn’t as though there was much to be done to begin with. Options of entertainment were rather limited, but not nonexistent. “Do you happen to have some cured elfroot left?”

Alec grinned, as if to say the question was needless.

Soon, Alec would chase the stars again, but at least for tonight, he was here, and his eyes were full of life like they hadn’t been in so long. To Zevran, life was what you made of it each day. It might not be forever, but his warden was once again at his side, in his arms.

And it was enough to have his Alec back for tonight.


	2. Epilogue

Two weeks later, the Black Shadow docked in Rialto Bay with the Hero of Ferelden at his side.

Even Morrigan and a cure could wait. 

Alec had come too close to never having a chance of following the man he loved through the narrow streets of his glistening gem of a hometown. He’d nearly missed his chance of breathing in the rich aroma of spices in the lively market of Antiva City, of trying out Antivan's most colorful and flavorful fruits, of joining the band at the tavern at their (and Zevran’s) insistence -- Alec Surana, playing the lute to an audience in Antiva City. It was all because Zevran had given him that smile, the one that melted his heart.

It was thanks to nothing but a lucky roll of dice that Alec hadn’t ended up with a shattered heart instead, forever wishing he had fulfilled his promise before it was too late. Alec knew regret too well now, had spent too many years battling with it to take his chances with even _more_ of that self-inflicted poison. 

And besides, Alec fancied himself smart. Smart people learned from their mistakes.

He sat on the rooftops with Zevran, their fingers laced in each other, an empty bottle of wine and a tray of leftover cured meats and tasty cheeses at their side. The warm breeze rustled their clothes, ruffled their hair. The entire city lay in front of them, bright and bustling even late at night. Surrounding the castle were long and verdant gardens, flowers always in bloom.

_And then you put your hand in mine  
And pulled me back from things divine  
Stop looking up for heaven,  
Waiting to be buried._  
(Dan Smith)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg! Yes! It is done! Alec's story arc, Alec's pains, fears and most vulnerable moments all exposed in one go? Oof! 
> 
> I hope this was a good ride of a read. This story is dear to me because it somehow conveys what I think is a common struggle: one's own unrealistic demands for oneself, and the toll it takes to constantly fail to measure up to absurd standards, whether self-imposed or externally established. It's helped me work through my anxieties, to channel them into this precious OC of mine who, just like me, completely lost his grip on his idea of self when he was 27, because the person he was didn't measure up to the person he had worked towards becoming. Thankfully, he had Zevran, as I had my beautiful partner, my therapists and my wonderful friends. 
> 
> I've been meaning to tell this story for so long and I am really glad that these songs (and my most recent obsession, The Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi) inspired me to get this out of my head and onto the page. It came from deep within, with all my heart, and I appreciate you journeying through the innermost dungeons of Alec's arc with me.  
> From here on, it's a road upwards, I promise.  
> If you have a minute to leave me a comment, you'll make my day! Thanks!
> 
> Happy New Year!
> 
> And here is another song for this moment of their lives: **[If Tomorrow Never Comes (Renato Russo's Stonewall Celebration Concert's version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quumRrMoFFA)** or on Spotify: [zalec playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Kn5vK0DfMqmgMVbqdgOqX?si=AGNzTzXOQ4u3sSmfeQb_RA)


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